


Tears Like Diamonds

by OldandKinky



Series: Tumblr Prompts [3]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Gaping, Anal Sex, Choking, Crying, Crying During Sex, Dark Witchers, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Deepthroating, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, Eskel Has a Big Dick (The Witcher), Grooming, Jaskier is 14, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, POV Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Painful Sex, Prostate Milking, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Oral Sex, Sexual Slavery, The Law of Surprise (The Witcher), Underage Sex, Vesemir fucks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:35:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29948019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OldandKinky/pseuds/OldandKinky
Summary: Calling the Law of Surprise never gets any Witcher anything good, and yet they all keep doing it, like the idiots Geralt secretly suspects they all are. He has a half-formed theory that it's something in the potions they used to turn them into Witchers. It also turns them stupid.
Relationships: Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion/Vesemir, Lambert/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Tumblr Prompts [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2200035
Comments: 2
Kudos: 91





	Tears Like Diamonds

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous asked: "How about underage undernegotiated gang bang. I don't care who, I like Jaskier or Ciri with Geralt orchestrating. They cry and don't enjoy it very much and Geralt takes his turn last."

Geralt should have learned his lesson by now, but no one ever accused him of being particularly quick to adapt. Calling the Law of Surprise never gets any Witcher anything good, and yet they all keep doing it, like the idiots Geralt secretly suspects they all are. He has a half-formed theory that it’s something in the potions they used to turn them into Witchers. It also turns them stupid.

In any case, he called the Law, and finds himself with a brand-spanking-new Child of Surprise, one he has no idea what to do with. The lad would be too old to become a Witcher if that was still a thing, too young to work at the keep in any useful capacity. He’s 14, lanky and waif-like, with blue eyes that seem too big for his face and give him an innocent, perpetually surprised look. He’s also devastated at being given away by his parents, even if he says he understands why. Geralt considers leaving him in the next bigger village, set him up with a tailor maybe or an apothecary, somewhere where his slim hands can be of use.

The boy, Jaskier as he calls himself, has been with him for three weeks when Geralt reconsiders that plan. He left Jaskier with Roach while he went out on a job, and when he returns, it’s to find the boy sitting on a log, breeches around his ankles and one of said slim hands furiously stripping his cock. Jaskier’s head is thrown back, his cheeks flushed, and when he comes, it’s with a high keening cry that he tries and mostly fails to stifle with his free hand.

Geralt steps into the clearing before Jaskier’s even had a chance to catch his breath, and the boy jumps and stammers out an apology, face cherry red.

“Don’t worry about it,” Geralt says, taking hold of the boy’s hand and hauling him to his feet. When he stands on shaky legs, Geralt bends down and pulls his breeches up, fastens the laces. “Growing boy like you, it’s only natural. Nothing to be embarrassed about.” Jaskier looks up at him with those big blue eyes, and Geralt knows he is going to absolutely ruin this kid.

After that, things change very quickly, but Geralt isn’t surprised. The kid is at that age where all boys are randy as dogs, and when Jaskier starts wincing as he walks beside Roach, cock certainly chafing against the rough fabric of his breeches, Geralt tosses him a vial of oil. “Use this, don’t want you rubbing yourself raw.”

If anything, Jaskier gets even worse with that. He’s constantly sneaking off into the bushes, coming back with a flush on his cheeks. Geralt feels drunk on the constant scent of arousal and come floating around the kid, and another week after his discovery, he decides to go further.

They’ve made camp far enough off the road that their fire won’t be seen, and after they have eaten, Jaskier starts squirming again. Geralt knows he won’t go off into the bushes, not at night when it’s too dark for his human eyes to see a possible threat, but the kid is obviously raring to go. Geralt hums as he lies down on his bedroll. “If you need to rub one out, don’t let me stop you. Nothing I haven’t seen before.” Jaskier stares at him for a moment, and then he slides into his own bedroll, pulling the blanket up to his chin. Mere seconds later, the blanket starts moving, and Jaskier gasps softly.

It’s over laughably quickly, but Geralt doesn’t mind. The kid will want to go again soon enough.

From there, Jaskier becomes bolder. He doesn’t attempt to hide his wanking sessions any longer, and soon it’s too warm for him to curl up in his bedroll as he works up a sweat pulling himself off. He shoots Geralt a glance before he lies down on top of the blanket and shoves an oil-slick hand into his breeches. Geralt doesn’t attempt to hide that he watches, and when Jaskier’s eyes flutter open and turn to look his way, the Witcher smiles encouragingly. Jaskier comes so hard his back arches off the ground.

It’s easy to work his way up to kissing Jaskier, to sliding his own hand into the boy’s breeches. The first time he touches Jaskier’s cock, the boy nearly starts crying with how intense it is. He does cry, a week later, when Geralt gently pushes a slicked finger into his hole, but it’s more shame and being overwhelmed than pain.

It takes Geralt a month and a half to have the kid naked on his back, legs spread wide to accommodate the Witcher’s bulk, and sinking into Jaskier’s fire-hot arse is quite possibly the best thing Geralt has ever experienced. He doesn’t go for the young ones, usually. Too much hassle for what would just be a quick fuck before he moved on. But Jaskier is his, by law, and working him up to bouncing on Geralt’s cock at every given opportunity is absolutely worth the effort.

By the time they make their way to Kaedwen, Jaskier sucks cock like he was born for it, and he is always willing, always enthusiastic. It’s cute, the way he smiles sleepily up at Geralt after the Witcher has fucked him into the dirt, has filled his tight hole with more come than his lithe body can hold. Jaskier trusts him, Geralt thinks, and if he were a better man, he would probably feel guilt at using the kid this way. But he isn’t, and he doesn’t.

The snows have started by the time they make it to Kaer Morhen, and they find the stables full when they go to take Roach into her box. Everyone is there already, and Geralt smiles as he watches Jaskier coo at the old dappled mare Vesemir can’t seem to part from.

Inside, the fire in the great hall is roaring, Vesemir and his brothers clearly waiting for them. There is food and ale, and the old wolf cocks a brow at the boy. “Who’s this then?”

Geralt explains what happened, and as he speaks, Lambert rises from the bench, coming to stand beside the boy. Jaskier looks intimidated, and Lambert sniffs him unsubtly. “Who’d have thought the golden boy of the Wolf school would get himself a sweet little cockwarmer.” Eskel huffs a laugh, and Vesemir smiles, and Jaskier squawks, indignant.

“I’m not a cockwarmer! We- I-” He looks to Geralt for help, but the Witcher lets him flounder for a moment. He’s so pretty when he’s confused. “Geralt?”

“Everyone is expected to pull their weight around here,” he replies, “and you can’t help with the repairs, or hunt, or cook.” Jaskier’s eyes grow wide, and Geralt shrugs. “You have to make yourself useful in some other way.”

Jaskier opens his mouth to say something, his eyes glittering with tears suddenly, but he doesn’t get a chance to speak. Lambert grabs him by the back of the neck and maneuvers him over to where Vesemir sits. “Show some fucking respect, boy,” he hisses, shoving the kid to his knees, and Jaskier’s tears spill over. He turns back to look at Geralt pleadingly, but then Vesemir cups his chin and pulls his face between his legs.

“Be a good pup,” he says gently as his other hand tugs open his trousers, “after all we’ll have to keep you alive during the winter. Can’t expect nothing in return, can we?”

“Please, isn’t there something else?” The kid’s voice is choked already, and Vesemir strokes a thumb through the tears running down his cheek. Then he sinks his hand into Jaskier’s hair and pulls him down on his cock.

Jaskier fights, tries to get away, but only for a minute. Vesemir’s grip on his hair is too strong for him to escape, unless he wants to scalp himself. And so he folds, lets Vesemir move him on his length, and he only panics for a heartbeat when the old wolf pushes into his throat. Geralt has started teaching him this but he still struggles, and Vesemir is well endowed.

When the Witcher comes, Jaskier gags and chokes, come dripping from his chin, and he coughs when Vesemir releases him, falls onto his hands, gasping helplessly. The reprieve doesn’t last long. Lambert is on him the moment he has stopped trying to hack up a lung, pulling the kid to his feet by the back of his shirt. Jaskier starts sobbing anew, trying fruitlessly to escape Lambert’s clutches and giving Geralt a teary-eyed, hopeful look.

Geralt leans back on the bench he sat down on and pulls out his cock, and Jaskier seems to deflate in despair.

Lambert tugs the kid’s clothes off, then sits cross-legged on the furs before the fire. Jaskier stands before him, tears dripping unceasingly from his jaw, and Lambert takes his hand and pulls him into his lap. “Don’t you worry your sweet head, we all know what horny little boys like you need.” With that, he takes hold of Jaskier’s dick, and the boy cries out and squirms, trying to get away. Lambert is relentless, stroking the little prick until Jaskier is hard and shaking in his arms, and he forces orgasm after orgasm out of the kid. Eskel pours oil over the boy’s crotch at some point, and Jaskier’s cries rise in pitch and volume. He sobs through four rapid orgasms, and when he’s boneless and has stopped trying to get away from Lambert, the Witcher spreads the oil over the boy’s hole and shoves three fingers inside. Jaskier screams, his back arching, Lambert’s iron grip holding him in place as he fucks his fingers inside roughly, aiming for the kid’s sweet spot judging by the sounds Jaskier is making. Jaskier comes again from that, but it’s barely a dribble, his sweet little cock wrung almost dry.

Lambert, too, makes use of Jaskier’s mouth, curling his hand around the kid’s throat as he pushes inside, and Jaskier panics yet again. “Shush, you’re doing great, kid,” Lambert grunts, taking a firmer hold of Jaskier’s hair as he really fucks his face, and when he comes, Jaskier chokes so hard that some of Lambert’s come spews from his nose.

Eskel has pulled off his clothes, and he lies down on the furs and pulls the nearly insensible boy on top of him. Jaskier looks tiny in comparison, and Geralt has to squeeze himself to stop his orgasm when Eskel fingers the boy even further open. By the time he’s able to cram four fingers into Jaskier’s hole, the boy has been reduced to pained little whimpers, and when Eskel replaces those fingers with his cock, Jaskier claws at the Witcher’s broad chest, trying desperately to get away. “No, please, I can’t, it won’t fit, please, Geralt, help me, please, please, I’ll do anything!”

Geralt watches, silent, as Eskel holds the kid in place, only the tip of his cock inside. Eskel coos at Jaskier in a way all too similar to how the kid had spoken to the horse. “You can take it, little one, I know you can. I know a cockslut when I see one, and your pretty hole is so hungry for it.” And with that he starts pulling Jaskier down on his dick, and Jaskier screams at the top of his lungs as he’s stuffed to the brim. Eskel groans at the tight heat enveloping him, a luxury he’s only afforded in winter really, and never in a hole this tight. The pace he sets is fast and relentless, Jaskier jerking in his grip like a ragdoll, and Geralt can actually see the vague shape of Eskel’s cock moving in Jaskier’s belly. When Eskel comes, he grabs Jaskier by the throat, squeezing, and as Jaskier panics as his airway closes, he tightens even more around Eskel.

The boy collapses onto his side when Eskel pulls him off his cock, his formerly tight, pink hole gaping and fucked full of come. Eskel huffs breathlessly. “Fuck, Geralt, sometimes you have great ideas.”

Geralt smirks, absently stroking himself as he watches Jaskier shivering where he’s curled up on the floor. Finally, he calls the boy’s name, and Jaskier flinches. “Come here, Jaskier,” he says quietly, and Jaskier sobs before he pushes himself up onto shaking legs. He stumbles, but when Eskel holds out a hand to steady him he flinches away violently. The boy is a mess, Geralt thinks as he makes his way over to where Geralt sits, face and chest and thighs streaked with come, his eyes red from crying. He’s magnificent, performing his new role beautifully.

“You did so well for us, Julek,” he says at length, and Jaskier sobs again at the pet name. “I’m so proud of you. You’ll make the winter fly by,” and then he takes the boy’s hand and pulls him into his lap. Jaskier winds rubbery arms around his neck, attempting to hide as he cries hysterically, and Geralt runs soothing hands down his back. Only when Jaskier has calmed down somewhat, when his crying has petered off into wet sniffles and hiccuping breaths, does Geralt guide himself into the boy’s wide open hole, the way slicked by Eskel’s come, and he pulls Jaskier into a sweet kiss as fresh tears spill down his cheeks.

“You’ll be so happy here,” he murmurs into Jaskier’s hair as he coaxes the boy into fucking himself on Geralt’s dick, “we’ll fuck you so well, you’ll never want for anything.”

He comes deep inside the kid, _his_ Child Surprise, his _property_ , and when he has pulled one more orgasm out of the boy’s exhausted little cock, he kisses his forehead and asks softly, “Now, what do good little boys say?”

Jaskier eyes are glassy as he looks up at him, and there is drool on his chin. When he thanks Geralt, his words are slurred and hardly intelligible, but it’s enough. He carries his boy up to their room and cleans him up before he tucks him into bed, and as he watches the slow rise and fall of the boy’s chest, he thinks that this will be a very good winter indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](https://oldandkinky.tumblr.com/)


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